


Cold

by FrostOverlord



Series: But the Earth Refused to Die [1]
Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, M/M, sads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3343877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostOverlord/pseuds/FrostOverlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no light, there is no life. Earth has settled into eternal winter as it travels through the dark of space. It's caretaker walks it's lonely surface towards a structure clad in white, and reflects upon his situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

You’re cold. It’s always cold these days, the forever-night sky above not one to provide warmth, but that would never be enough to make _you_ cold. The temperature has always been relatively meaningless to you. Even now, with no sun to shine it’s life-giving light upon the planet, your core temperature remains the same. No, it isn’t the temperature that makes you cold, but the loneliness. Eons ago, back when you still had a name that wasn’t Winter, you had thought you’d known loneliness. You know better now.

 

You aren’t the only one left upon this place you call home, but the only others are just as yourself. Any kinship you have is born of necessity while you try to bring this planet to some spot in the stars that it might call a home of its own, where life may once again spread across its surface. You and Nature speak little; you both have your tasks, and those tasks are all the two of you ever discuss. The same is true of Death, though where you still have tasks, he is left largely without, and so waits for there to once more be life upon this planet. They are not friends, but acquaintances.

 

The only one you might call friend is the Moon, but words will not reach his little ship up in the sky. And so you are left with the cold.

 

That is why you have come here, to this place that was once-north-then-south-then-north-again. That is why come to what you call your castle, a place that you once loved but could never call home. It is not yours, and never was, but instead belonged to Wonder. You don’t think he would mind you taking residence while he is away, for he had once told you there was always a place in his home for you.

 

Stepping through the ice-bound doors, frozen open too long ago to recall, you glance around the white-washed halls, taking in once more the emptiness of this particular place. It always strikes you as sad, for you recall distantly how this was once a nest of activity, how lively it had always been.

 

You continue on, the thought just makes you feel colder.

 

You walk for a few minutes, staff clicking against the floor beneath the snow, and soon enter a massive room, its vastness accentuated by the emptiness within. The only ornament not hidden beneath the snow is the giant metal sphere at its center, miraculously clear of ice, ever-spinning at an almost non-existent pace. It is different than how it used to be, it’s surface showing shapes that are unlike those it had shown the last time you came here, reflecting another shift in the continents you imagine. You turn away after this observation, and make your way up the stairs.

 

You cannot bear to look at the dark surface any longer than you already have.

 

As you walk, you pass massive crystalline structures of your own creation, each holding inside it dark shapes of varying sizes, impossible to see clearly in the darkness. You don’t mind not seeing the shapes clearly. You know what’s there, who is there, and that’s all that matters. Occasionally, though, you pause in front of a structure to peer inside, as if hoping to see something different than what you know to be reality. You don’t, of course, and perhaps it is a testament to your degenerating sanity that you even try.

 

When at last you reach your destination, you smile at the faint light emanating from the center of the room. It is safe, all is well. Along the walls are yet more crystalline structures; Nine in total, though only those at the front truly matter to you. The pure light cast from the room’s center, pale, yet unfaltering and ever-persisting, is enough to see inside these structures. You walk up to each in turn, looking inside and trying to recall a time when they would look back, the light from the room’s center glowing bright enough to show the faces within. The two you don’t care about are fine, no changes, and so you move on to the others.

 

You first look in on Memory, that woman who was always so kind to you. She is peaceful in her slumber, unmoving, untouched by the hand of time. Her feathers are bright against the monotone world around her. You think about if some day she will wake, and help you remember all that you have forgotten. Imagination is next to her, clutching her book and looking as though she is entranced by a particularly thrilling tale. Her father, Curiosity, stands at attention to her side. His face is set in a stern, almost grim expression. You frown, and move on.

 

You next look at Dreams, and smile at how his crystal glows ever-so-faintly gold in the relative darkness. His shape is as it always was, a small and rotund little man, but he looks almost heavier to you now. You wonder, briefly, if he still dreams in his crystalline coffin. And if so, what about? You smile at that, and move on, sparing a moment to check on Fear. He is the only one that has truly changed. His continence less oily, his appearance less elven. You imagine that were it not for the cold of the ice, his skin would have lost its deathly pallor. You had wondered at the wisdom of preserving him, but now perhaps there is nothing left to worry about. You think that maybe, just maybe, he is no longer Fear, but rather something else.

 

You smile over at Wonder, still and peaceful in his own crystal bed. You remember vaguely how he had loved questions like those, ones which challenged the mind to think outside the confines of regular thought. You place a hand upon the one you had once thought to call “little brother,” if only in a joking way. You ask him how he is, and imagine his howling laughter as he responds in turn. You look back, and ask the others as well, each responding in their own way, and the cold you had felt begins to creep away. It is not gone, but dulled.

 

Smiling now, you move to the last of your friends: Spring, your Hope, Aster. He is as he always was, peaceful as the others, encased in ice that you’ve begun to think might never melt. You place a hand on the ice above his face, pain slipping through your heart to remind you that you still live. You ask Aster how he is, tell him how much you miss him. Playing with him, fighting with him, you miss all that. Perhaps more than you rightfully should. Frowning, you sit down before him and lean your head against the ice. You express your concerns, of how long it has been since you last saw a star that could support life, about how you’re afraid that he might never get the chance to wake up once more.

 

You apologize, as that is all you can think to do. And you think, perhaps, he would forgive you. You hope so.

 

You stay as you are for a time, how long you are unsure, before slowly shifting back and lying down in the thick blanket of snow. You’re tired, as you always are after chasing the cold away. There on the floor in front of Aster, You close your eyes, not noticing the faint glow creeping up the windowsill behind you. As you drift into unconsciousness, you hope that someday your home will have life once more. You hope and you wish and you pray with all your heart, as you always do.

 

Sometime later, you dream that as you rest upon the ground, a loud crack sunders the air. There is shifting above you, and another leans down next to you. There is a pressure upon the side of your face, and you lean into its warmth. In the dream, for it surely is a dream, the other chuckles at your reaction. There is a fleeting pressure upon your forehead, and the other stands.

 

“You did well,” you hear this other say, his voice so very familiar. “Now _sleep_ well, Snowflake. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

Perhaps it is simply the cold reaching out in desperation, but something about that voice makes you believe him.

**Author's Note:**

> So I blew up the sun, sorry about that. Hope you enjoyed that ~1000 words of my brain being depressing, and then the extra hundred or so of it going "Jk have some happiness with your angst."


End file.
